The x-ray of my jaw gapes before me. Sitting in the dentist’s chair, I realize you never see your own skeleton you only ever get a model: a dark, blurry picture, a faded fragment-- as if one easily stands in for the other.
Tomorrow, I will call the bank. I want a new mortgage: 30 more unbroken years and many more meadows drenched in crocus light and wayward winds, crowned by glistening city nights full of stars and a brackish moon. It turns out that at any given moment we can see at most 3,000 stars. Maybe one burns clear like the best cut of diamond for every Friday night I have left.
Sarah A. Etlinger (she/her) is an English professor who lives in Milwaukee, WI. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, she's the author of 3 books. Current interests include cooking, baking, and spending time near Lake Michigan. Find her work and updates on Twitter (@drsaephd) or at www.sarahetlinger.com.